


baby, let me show you I'm a talented boy

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:51:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"River Song, you are going to sing for me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, let me show you I'm a talented boy

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: Post-S6  
> Concrit: Welcome  
> A/N: For the Hell in Heels ficathon, filling the [prompt](http://spoiler-song.livejournal.com/284313.html?thread=2076825#t2076825) from [**bringingupsammy**](http://bringingupsammy.livejournal.com/) "River/Eleven _"The Doctor was delighted to discover that River was, in fact, quite the screamer."_ Smut!fic focused in great detail on just how vocal River is in bed, and how creative the Doctor gets in order to ensure it happens as. much. as. possible." I hope this satisfies. Title is from the Prince song "Get Off". Thanks to [**coffeesuperhero**](http://coffeesuperhero.livejournal.com/) for the readthrough.  
>  Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

The Doctor is startled to discover that he's delighted that River is, in fact, quite the screamer.

It begins as a strange day. He mooches around the TARDIS, _itching_ somehow under his skin. Scratching doesn't help - he just ends up with red streaks up and down his arms. Twiddling bits on the console and trying to resolder a few wires so that the TARDIS can produce espresso on command only gets him an electric shock and a few reproving whirrs from somewhere in the depths of her engines. He paces around and around the corridors, looking for old rooms, never quite finding what he's looking for. Even a quick jog through the Gamma Forests with a brave and lovely girl called Lorna Bucket (who looks amazingly familiar, come to think of it) doesn't ease his restlessness. He touches the console, programming in coordinates, and rings the bell.

He opens the door expecting a rush of sea air (nothing more invigorating than a planet of archipelagos with six moons, a plethora of toothy creatures, untold treasures on nearly every island, and wildly unpredictable tides) and finds instead that he's inside the Stormcage facility, staring at River, who has one hand clutched around the bars of her cell in utter defiance of her casual posture. She's been updating her diary, he sees, resisting the urge to glance at the pages that lay open on her bed, rustling a bit in the winds from the storm.

"Well?" River asks, her voice containing both "What are you doing right now?" and "What _aren't_ you doing right now?" and suddenly he understands what all of this has been. The directionless energy, the ache for friction, the fact that he hasn't been able to outrun his need: to put it bluntly, he wants her. He wants her naked against him, under him, over him, their skin slick and sliding and her cries of pleasure filling the room. Yes.

"Breaking my wife out of prison," he tells her, his voice slightly rougher than he intends. "That cot of yours isn't quite up to my standards, when it comes to conjugal visits."

"That's more like it," she says with satisfaction, and he fumbles the sonic out and unlocks her cell. She shoves the door open and flings her arm around his neck. His mouth meets hers and he pulls her against him, desperate for her touch, stumbling backwards until they're safe in the TARDIS. The door closes behind them and he pushes her up against it, his tongue sliding against hers and their teeth clicking together in the urgency of their kiss. She makes pleased, predatory little noises that seem to hit him right in the limbic system, sending electric bolts up and down his spine.

River pulls his bow tie free and he slides his hands up under her camisole, still kissing her, unable to keep his hands off her. He only gets a bit tangled up as he unhooks her bra and flings it over his shoulder. He can't get her undressed fast enough for his liking, and she clearly feels the same, the way she's tugging at his braces and ripping at his buttons as she drags his shirt off him. He slides his hand under the waistband of her loose trousers and down further into the slick heat between her legs. _That_ is exactly what he was looking for all day; they both sigh happily. He slides his fingers between her folds, teasing, exploring, finding her clit and drawing circles to make her moan, and oh, does she moan.

Her voice starts deep, like a promise, sending shivers all through him. The sound gets into his bones, a delicious ache in the marrow that nothing but more and more can satisfy. He pushes his fingers into her, just barely, to hear the hunger in her moans. He kisses her fleetingly, a promise for later, and then lets his fingers slide back up to her clit. Her voice gets higher as his fingers move faster; he plays her like an instrument, high to low and back again, until it's nearly a song, the sound she's making.

"You told me once that you were a screamer," he says, his lips mumbling at her ear as she clutches at him. "You're going to scream for me tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes," she promises. "Yes, yes, yes." She's clinging to him as if he's all that's holding her up, which may well be true, since she's got one leg wrapped around his waist and her other knee seems to be a bit wobbly. He kisses her neck, using the edges of his teeth on her tender skin to hear her voice slide up the scale, and then he plunges his fingers into her cunt and she moans deep in her throat, her whole body vibrating with it. He can't help himself when she makes those sounds; all he wants is to make her shriek her pleasure, to hear her call out his name, to hear a raspiness still in her voice the next day. This is the song that gave birth to the universe, the song of everything. He lets the side of his thumb rub her clit as he fucks her with his fingers, reaching for the spots inside her that make her gasp and shout as his body presses hers into the wooden panels of the TARDIS' door and his teeth nip at her neck.

"Ah, ah, ah," she gasps, her voice higher and louder each time, and the thing he wants most in the whole wide universe is to hear her cry out as she comes. He thrusts his fingers into her, his other hand sliding up to squeeze her breast, and as he flicks her nipple with his thumb, her back arches and she calls his name in a voice that rings with power and ecstasy, so loud and joyous he's not sure she won't shatter glass somewhere. She digs her fingers into his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin, and her inner muscles clutch around his fingers, and she's panting into his chest in little shrieks, and the Doctor hasn't been this pleased with himself in a long time.

"Oh, _sweetie_ ," River says when she can speak again, which is a satisfying long interlude, if he's honest. "That was lovely."

"It isn't over yet," he tells her smugly. "River Song, you are going to sing for me."

"I won't be the only one," she swears. She lets her leg slide very, very slowly off his hip as her fingers find the button of his trousers. He's so hard his cock aches for her touch, but he catches at her hands and falls to his knees in front of her, sliding her own trousers and her knickers down her thighs. He is guiding her leg over his shoulder and nuzzling between her thighs before she can even begin to protest, but when he looks up at his face, her eyes are narrowed in satisfaction. Her fingers tangle into his hair, stroking and clutching.

"Get to it then," she says, and that was all he wanted. She takes a deep breath and he eases her thighs farther apart and tastes her. This moan is even throatier than before, from some new place inside her, and he wants to hear it for the rest of his lives. He savors the salty tang of her, pushing his tongue as deep as he can inside her. Her fingers tighten and she lets her head tip back, gasping as she pushes her hips against his mouth and he flicks his tongue against her clit. He can't help moaning with her, the sound muffled by her cunt, and the thought that she's feeling his sounds inside her turns him on even more. The vibrations of her moans go through the wood of the door and the metal of the deck and all through his body and he has to hold her hips to keep her from shuddering away from his mouth. He wants her, body and soul; he wants to hear her make these sounds and know that he's the inspiration for them. Her voice rises and falls, rises and falls, echoing the rhythms of his movements, and he loves her for the freedom of it, for the glory in her abandon. His hips jerk slightly in time with her moans as she gets closer and closer.

She can't even manage his name this time, but he hears her voice break and he feels her body shake and he holds her close, his lips at the crease of her thigh. He can't resist biting the tender skin there, just gently, sucking and nipping until he knows she's going to have a truly magnificent love bite in an utterly unambiguous place.

"I like that," she says in a husky voice.

"My tongue?" he asks.

"That too," she says, a sly grin on her face. "The biting is what I was talking about, though." She leans back against the TARDIS and holds out a hand to pull him up. He makes sure he brushes against her body as much as possible as he's getting to his feet, sliding one hand up the side of her thigh and grazing her breasts with his chest.

"Shall we take this someplace a little more horizontal?" he asks her, offering his arm.

"I do believe we shall," she says, stepping neatly out of her clothes and linking her arm through his. He bends his head to kiss her and she stretches up to meet him and they stumble down the corridors of the TARDIS, nipping at each other's mouths and necks and whatever else they can reach. She slides down his body to use her teeth and tongue on the bone of his hip, her hands busy with his trousers again, and he swears and has to drag her back up so that he doesn't lay her down right there in the middle of the corridor. By the time they find a room, she's managed to strip him down to his skin and they're both covered with pink marks.

"Now what, Time Lord?" River challenges him, and for answer, he picks her up and carries her to the bed, laying her down half-gently and kneeling over her. He takes her hands and pins them over her head, nuzzling at the soft skin covering the insides of her wrists. When he lets his teeth sink into that skin, she gasps. His cock twitches. She moans and he can barely think for the throbbing of his need for her. His teeth find more purchase on her bicep and he sucks hard at her skin. She pushes her hips up in the air, grazing his cock with her curls, and he wants nothing more than to plunge deep into her and never look back, but he's taking this slow. She hasn't screamed enough yet tonight. He moves back to her neck, finding a tender place that makes her squeak and shiver. He keeps sucking at the place, laving it with his tongue until her moan has a slight edge of real pain, and then he releases her.

"Playing rough, Doctor?" she asks, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure as she lies pinned beneath him, the bruise blooming on her pretty throat.

He's panting, leaning over her, half-dizzy with how much he wants her. Just the look on her face makes him groan, which makes her smile wickedly. "Just a little bit. River. I'm going to fuck you." The word sounds strange in his mouth, but good.

"Bring that idiot face down here," she purrs, "and I'll match you stroke for stroke." He lowers his body onto hers and she sinks her teeth into his collarbone. He gasps and she hums against his skin as her sharp teeth and her hot wet tongue stroke his skin.

"Yes," he groans and groans again when she releases him.

"It's time," she whispers in his ear, and he takes himself in hand and rubs the head of his cock against her curls and her clit and finally, finally into the heat of her cunt. They both groan. He trembles, holding himself back, and eases deeper into her. She moans and he has to hold himself tight to keep from plunging into her body. He wants to hear her scream again - he _has_ to hear her scream - and he's going to take all the time necessary to make sure that happens. River teaches him so much about himself, like the fact that his name sounds best when she's shouting it out as she comes.

He's still holding her wrists over her head, but she wraps her legs around his hips, holding him tight in the embrace of her body. He kisses her fiercely, a battle of a kiss, all teeth and thrusting tongues; she wins, of course, because she nearly always wins, but his reward is the primal sounds she's making as he pushes into her and she pushes back. He grinds his hips against her, sinking in as deep as he can, and oh, there's never been anything like this in all the worlds, never anything like the slide and rub of their bodies. He reaches down between their bodies, touching her clit, but the edge to her cries lets him know she's sensitive enough already. He slides his hand back up to her breast, squeezing gently, dipping his head to take her other nipple into his mouth, which gives a whole other dimension to her ecstatic moaning.

It's a ritual as old as time and she makes it seem new, incredible, like an experience he's never had in his long, long life. It's the way she looks at him, the shape of her mouth and the tremor in her throat as she groans at his touch. It's the way she gasps and shrieks and nearly sings when he moves inside her, and it's the slick heat between their bodies, and it's her mouth and her cunt and her teeth and her tongue and most of all the screams as she peaks, the way she opens herself to him and the way she tells him, every moment, exactly what she's feeling and how he creates it, how he shares it.

"Tell me," he commands her.

"Oh, sweetie," she gasps. "I'm close. It's you, it's all you, sweetie."

He groans.

"I love you inside me," she continues between moans. "You're fucking me and I fucking _love_ it."

He shivers at the bluntness of her language, his body tightening. "Scream for me."

"I will," she promises, and then she's moaning too loudly to talk anymore and it drives him absolutely mad. He can't resist her. He wants her to scream loud enough for the universe to hear, consequences be damned. He wants his name in her voice to ring through the stars. He thrusts into her, drunk on her voice, desperate to hear her come, as close as he is himself. He thrusts and she moans and her wrists are twisting where he still has her pinned but she can't help moving. Only one of her legs is crooked over his hip now; her other foot is pressed flat into the bed, her leg tense as she rocks her hips up and up and up against his, straining against him. Her whole body goes stiff under him and she bites her lip and then screams out his name, her voice rough and sweet and longing and satisfied all at once. The sound of the word tips him over the edge; he pushes into her twice, three times, and comes with a shout of his own, burying his face in her throat, groaning as he bites at her shoulder, trying to cope with a pleasure that's nearly shaking him apart.

They gasp and moan out the aftershocks together. He relishes the flutters of her muscles as he eases out of her, and the ache of not being inside her. He flops down beside her with another groan, and she stretches out her arms and brings them back down by her sides. Idly he cups her breasts in his hand, tweaking her nipples and squeezing gently to encourage a last few moans.

She lazily strokes her throat, touching the love bites and warming her skin with her palm. "I'll sound as if I spent the evening in a bar tomorrow," she observes. "Not sure I've ever screamed that much in my life. Not even in mortal peril." She touches the brim of an imaginary cap. "My hat's off to you, sweetie."

"I can name six planets off the top of my head that specialize in offering us opportunities to try to break that record," he offers. "Toys. Time loops. Various potions. Brand new positions. Null-gravity, though I hear that's mostly awkward."

"I _love_ you," she says, nearly a purr.

"I would hope so, after that," he quips. "Though I suppose I'm not the only Doctor in this TARDIS. Bit ambiguous, really. I'll make you clarify next time."

"Oh, shut up," she tells him with great satisfaction, and he's very happy to take her orders.


End file.
